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1kwordsandpictures · 12 years

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The Whims of an Aristocrat

(It’s Jeanelle [what-chikaboom]! I actually uploaded a day late…. (;A;) I will be uploading on Sundays from now on. FIXED IT)

(Bear with me, there may be some typos….)

“Milady, where are you?”

“Lady Charlé, please come back!”

“Charlé, you get back here right now!”

Charlé laughs lightly as she rounds the corner. It’s quickly growing dark, and there is little to no lighting down the streets and alleys in the city. She hears the footsteps of her pursuers getting lighter and lighter as she races down the alley. Her hands are fisted in her red dress, lifting the hem so that she can run. The fabric is covered with grime, and Charlé can feel the heavy skirt slowing her down. The dark bricks that surround the alley are glistening in the dim lighting because of rain from the previous day. Charlé gasps a little as she splashed through a puddle, feeling the cold water against her knees. She runs out into a street, glancing behind her to see if her pursuers are close. They are nowhere in sight.

Frustrated, Charlé runs a hand through her hair, unintentionally undoing part of her braid. Her hair falls in waves, due to the braids, and Charlé wishes (not the first time) that she could unravel her braids. Unfortunately, she’s yet to find all of the pins securing the braids in place. She grumbles unhappily before bunching the long skirt into her hands again. She stares at the ends of the fabric, darkened by dirt and who knows what. The skirt is getting too heavy, and it is starting to rip. Charlé grins. She knows how to get rid of her bodyguards now.

Her heartbeat speeds up as she hears the footsteps again, much closer this time. Frantically, Charlé begins to pull at a small rip at the bottom of the skirt. She manages to get enough off so that the skirt is just below her knees. Charlé grins as she feels the cool night air surround knees. Checking her boots, she notices that they’ve also gotten muddy. Oh well, it’s a small price to pay for freedom. Charlé grabs each end of the cloth and rips it into two pieces, dropping one of them a few steps out to the right. She runs down the street, turning left at the intersection and drops off the second cloth.

Charlé can now hear the footsteps getting very close, and her breathing becomes quick and shallow. Glancing up, she notices that the building is an apartment complex. The windows are too high up for her to reach though, and there is a ledge surrounding the building nearly three feet below the window. Charlé looks around quickly for anything to use to pull herself up to the window. A smile grows once she spots a flag pole jutting out of the building.

Charlé prepares to jump, once again relieved that she’s ripped her dress (it’s made the dress much lighter!). Leaping off the ground, her fingers wrap around the flag pole firmly. Charlé swings herself up onto the ledge, carefully edging along the wall so that she is hidden by the shadows. She slowly breathes through her mouth so that her breathing will be silent.

“Milady, please go back to the mansion!”

“Lady Charlé, Head Maid Olivia is worried that you haven’t come home yet!”

“This isn’t the time for games! Show yourself!”

Charlé doesn’t move and keeps waiting. She hears one of the bodyguards find a piece of her torn dress. After some arguing, the group decides to continue down the street in search of any other clues that their “playful” lady has left for them. Once they’ve left, Charlé releases a long breath, chuckling lightly. She is glad that they think she’s a simple minded girl; they’ve completely eliminated the possibility that Lady Charlé of the Brun House can be intelligent. Seconds pass before Charlé decides it is safe to continue. She braces herself as she leaps off the ledge, bending her knees to help soften the impact as her feet slam into the ground. Smiling to herself, Charlé turns left and runs in the opposite direction of her idiotic bodyguards.

A wrought iron fence stands ten feet tall, surrounding the beautiful Lancelot Estate. The garden out front is green and flourishing, well maintained by the gardeners. Lord Lancelot will never stand for a disorderly garden. The streets are surrounded with automobiles, the chauffeurs waiting lazily inside. Running up to the fence, Charlé jumps off the ground, latching on to the bars. She pulls herself to the top, carefully swinging herself over. Just as one leg makes it over the fence, Charlé feels a tug. She looks to see what’s wrong and curses under her breath. The front of her dress has been snagged on the fence. Charlé decides to jump down anyway, wincing as she hears the expensive material rip loudly.

The fabric hinders her movements a bit, so she stumbles when she hits the ground. Standing up, a shiver suddenly goes through Charlé. She stares at the ripped fabric stuck on the fence; it is completely wrapped around the tips with no way of successfully removing it. Charlé sighs and looks down at her ruined dress. Her sleeves are intact, puffed at the shoulders and flare out at the elbow. The torso is also unharmed, thankfully, although the skirt shows multiple rips and stains. Unfortunately, most of the skirt in the front has been ripped off. Fortunately, there is enough remaining so that she isn’t completely indecent (although she isn’t exactly decent either).

Charlé smiles as she sprints to the Lancelot Mansion, relieved that she can now run unhindered by her long skirts. She spots a ladder propped up against the side of the mansion. Heading toward the ladder, Charlé hears a shout behind her. Glancing back, she spots a bodyguard pointing at the top of the fence, exactly where the remains of her skirt are hanging. She let out a groan of frustration; she didn’t think it’d take them that fast to figure out where she is!

Lifting the ladder, Charlé moves it under a lit window. If she still recalls correctly, she should be under the right window. Scrambling up the ladder rungs, Charlé reaches the window easily. She tries to lift the bottom with her fingers, but the window is locked tight. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Charlé rips off her dress sleeve to the elbow, revealing the strapped leather arm guard holding four black squares. Charlé takes the sleeve and rips it in two, wrapping the cloth around each hand. Using her left hand, she takes one of the black squares and presses it to the window, covering it with her clothed hand. A dim glow emits from the square and electricity crackles, shattering the glass. Charlé climbs through the window, picking up the square and placing it back in the arm guard.

“Charlé Brun, what the on earth did you do this time?” a voice nearly shrieks.

“Hi, Maria! How’s it going?” Charlé replies with a grin.

Maria Lancelot, Charlé’s best friend, stares at Charlé in disbelief. Her short red hair and burgundy dress are styled to perfection. She’s just walked out of her dressing room, and the first thing she sees is her best friend with a dress in ruins and hairstyle falling apart. Naturally, the only logical thing to do is ask what the hell is going on.

“You just broke into my home, you look like you got attacked by bears, and you’re asking me ‘how’s it going?’ �� Maria replies in a shrill voice. “What the hell did you do?”

Charlé stands up and laughs. Maria shakes her head, bringing a hand to her temple. Charlé walks over to Maria and places an arm around her shoulders.

“I need some help.”

#what-chikaboom #WIP #writing #art #The Whims of an Aristocrat

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1kwordsandpictures · 12 years

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Leo. (Pt 1/Prologue??Intro)

“You useless boy, hurry up and go make yourself useful! I swear, the young’uns these days….” The age had begun to show on the old man’s worn face through his defined wrinkles and stress, as his bushy silver eyebrows furrowed in frustration, as he carelessly dropped an empty wooden pail. Limping heavily, the elder gradually made his way on over to a sleeping figure, sprawled lazily across the chipped white dining table. With a swift blow to the figure’s forehead, the old man grumbled once more, patience quickly thinning. “I said, get up.” Harsh sunlight struck the quaint humble cottage, as the boy began to stir to life from his heavy slumber. Signalling his rise with a few grumbles and yawns, his eyes fluttered, adjusting to the outside world. He was given little time to recover, however, before the elder sent another impatient blow to the boy’s head. “Leo, I swear, by the power in me, if you aren’t up soon…” A hearty chuckle flew from the young boy’s mouth in response. “Oh it’s just you, Pops! I was worried for a second. How’s it goin-?” Sharp pain surged through his forehead, as Leo yelped loudly in pain. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, as Leo ruffled his dark locks to soothe the hurt. “Don’t just ‘How’s it going’, me! Did you forget what day it is, boy?” The old man hobbled slowly across their compact kitchen, before settling snugly onto a stack of hay as a makeshift stool. Confusion swept over the teenager, as Leo shot him a blank stare. For a few moments, he tried to form guesses but to no avail; what made this day so special anyhow? A sigh of relief escaped his lips, before he conceded defeat. Mischief sparkling in his caramel eyes, he gave a toothy grin. “Pops, what’s the big secret? You got a surprise for me?” Leo instantly regretted his words, when a pang of hurt crossed his grandfather’s eyes. The fight that had been so clear before had simmered into regret, and the old man’s shoulders sagged. Pops closed his eyes firmly, dejected. “Pops? I’m sorry, but…I was just joking…I know what day it is. It’s milking day, right? I’ll go right now, and-” “Don’t worry. I’m not upset at you, young one. It’s just the way I am.” “So, you’re made to be an uptight, withered old man?” Pops chuckled softly, before gazing intently at Leo. “You never change.” Raising one eyebrow, though not yet breaking his cool facade, Leo shot back, “I could say the same, old man.” Lazily, Leo rocked precariously on the wooden stool he was seated on, before kicking his feet on top of the wooden table. Pops watched in silence, pondering before he continued to speak. “Have I ever told you about when you were little?” Uninterested, the boy continued to fumble with several stray pieces of hair, twirling them between his slender fingers. “Something about how Mom and Dad died, right? So it’d just have to be one big adventure with just you n’ me? Look Pops, I don’t really know what this has to do with anything…” Leo’s words were lost, upon catching the curious knowing look his grandfather’s eyes held. A mysterious glint of regret tinted his rustic gray eyes, before Pops broke the silence. “Did you ever wonder, why your hair was the color of the evening sky? Why your eyes, were colored such a soft caramel, unlike our harsh blue? Did you ever wonder, my young’un, for a second….why, it is you, who looks so different…from us?” “Pops, I-“ “Just listen to me,” the old man breathed out. His eyes pleaded for consent, and Leo gave a terse nod. “I told you that it was because your mother was of outside blood, if I recall correctly. She and your father had you, and her outside blood made you different. Heh, you never did like being different. And..I-I..” Pops swallowed, desperately searching for words. “I said that there had been a bandit raid once. The bandits had broken into our home and done away with them. I had been out for the morning, getting some herbs your father requested, and you had been with me, but too young to remember.” By now, Leo had lost his lazy, relaxed demeanor. With his voice uneven, though just a little louder than normal, he asked, “Pops, what’s going on? What does this have to do with anything?” “It was all a lie.” A strangling silence filled the air, discomfort enveloping Leo. He could only stare at his grandfather - if he could even say that anymore - in disbelief. Pops’ hooded eyes remained focused at the wooden boards beneath them, body huddled close to escape what wrath his grandson would throw at him. Shivering in fear once more, he took a wary breath before continuing. “In truth, I found you in the woods. I was out to get some firewood for that evening, when I heard wretched groaning. It was a young woman, quite a lovely one at that. From head to toe, there were..deep, deep cuts. In fact, there was a trail of blood following up to her body. Yet, despite her deathly appearance, I could sense life emanating from her, no matter how small. I called to her, trying to help.”

The old man dropped his axe and dashed to the side of the bloodied woman. Her varying cuts and wounds decorated her entire body, as blood continued to ooze from her almost lifeless form. Barely breathing, one of her battered arms shot up, as she tried to drag herself forward, but only succeeded in deepening the cuts. The sturdy man stopped her gently, before rolling her onto her back. It was obvious that she had been in an struggle by how the cuts were inflicted; someone had attempted to stab her lung and end it there. Her soft face had been tainted with bruises and purple and her clothes had been torn from the weaponry. “Miss, are you alright?”, he called. Tears falling unrestrained, she choked out a whisper. “Help me.” “But as I tried to get help, she stopped me. Her bloodied hand grabbed on my sleeve, and her eyes of pure terror told it all. She begged me not to leave; it’d be too late, apparently. She told me to take her baby, to take her beloved and run. The Majesty had founded her of some crime punishable by death, but she couldn’t bear to let you have the same fate. What it was? ” Pops let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll never know.” “Wait here, I’ll go get he-“ “NO!” Her piercing shriek shook her body violently, blood coughed up. “P-please, you can’t.” Her eyes drilled into his, melting his resolve. “Miss, it’ll be the only way to help you. I ain’t no medic.” Using a few leaves nearby, he had tried to halt the flow, but it’d only be a matter of time before she succumbed to death. Her were eyes brimming with fear, as her breathing grew heavier. Her pupils darted from him to behind, as her mind searched for options. A cry came from the distance. “I believe she ran this way, m’lord!” Various clamors of agreement and excitement numbed her body even more, as the strange footsteps grew louder and louder, signalling the approach. Without a second thought, she thrusted a package wrapped in now bloodied cloth into the man’s arms. Not willing to break eye contact, as if to ensure a promise, she breathed, “I want you to take him far away. Please, h-he’s all I have left. Promise me, he’ll be safe. M-my son, please. Please…” “Miss,” the man pleaded. His eyes darted from the direction of the footsteps, to her entrancing eyes. “I can save you both, just…come with me…please..” “No. If they find me, they’ll find him. Royal’s on me; they’re going to make sure I don’t see dawn. I’ve been running since the borders of Eve, I can’t.. Just…just promise me, he’ll be safe.” The increasing volume of the footsteps had made the choice for him, and he took a reluctant step towards his village. Before he parted, he took one last wistful glance, only to be met with her grateful face. Both arms hugging the bundle tightly, he took off into the shadows of the forest, only with the evil laughter of the Royals echoing in the silence of fresh death. “I never even got to know her name,” he muttered darkly. “Or yours. I just started calling you Leo, after my own dead son; you two were so alike, why…it was as if the heavens had given him back to me.” A thoughtful smile tugged on Pops’ tired face, as his eyes gazed into the distance, recalling some other far off memory. ”My daughter and her husband weren’t too keen on taking you in, but they did after I told them what had happened in that forest. I didn’t lie about the bandits, it happened. But your real mother took a much crueler fate.” His gaze grew hard, as he locked eyes with Leo, as if to inspect the younger boy’s reaction. His face had taken on a sickly shade of white, as his entire body tensed. His fingers were clenched tightly into sound fists, beating the chipped table into the afterlife. His feet were planted sturdily against the unforgiving wooden floor, the exact one that he had walked across as a unknowing child. Tears stung his broken his eyes, and an unnerving calm tinted his voice. “So?” Surprise hit Pops, as hi brows furrowed in confusion. “Leo-“, he started. “It’s not like I haven’t thought of you as a father the entire time, you know,” Leo coldly yelled, anger rising. “It was you that taught me how to cut the wood best, Pops. It was you who taught me how to hunt the best game in the woods. It was you who taught me how to outsmart ol’ Sades down at the market. It was you who taught me how to pick apples, Pops, and I’ll have you damn-well know that I’m one of the best our village has got to offer!” He took a few uneasy breaths, before tears suddenly fell. With a cracking voice and spirit, he spat out, “Do..you not want me anymore?” “I’m, I’m sorry I can’t learn right like the other kids. And I’m always getting into the fights, but that’s cause, I do it well, right? You told me to do what I do best, and..I know I joke around and don’t work, but I get the job done eventually, right? I belong here, Pops. I know that. You know that.” Silent tears streamed down Pops’ wrinkled face, as he slowly hobbled from his stack of hay. Though awkwardly, but not without love, he embraced Leo’s tiny stature with his own burly arms. With a few reassuring pats, Pops noted, “I know you haven’t forgotten what day it is.” With only a nuzzle into his shoulder as response, Pops chuckled. “Some days, I wish we could live like this forever. I’ll come home from a hard day at the fields to your lazy self at the table, napping away. But..” Pops took Leo by the shoulders and gently pushed him back, so that they could see one another. ” I know deep inside, you stay for me, and yes, it warms my heart. But, I know you were meant for so much more. You’ve always been a little different, my Leo. You’ve turned this day down for 4 years now, and I’ll be dying fox before you turn this years down. It’s your last chance to recruit, and I don’t want to be the old coot that made you lose it.” Pulling himself away, Pops hobbled over to a nearby cabinet and shuffled inside. Within a few minutes, he re-emerged holding a worn pair of goggles, patched at the band and tiny cracks running throughout the lenses. Carefully, Pops turned around and placed them in the gentle hands of Leo. “You’ve always been a little different boy, that I know. Born for adventure, not this..little town. Our little village of Paon doesn’t have many boys to offer up to them royals for knights, but I’ve seen what you can do. I had these goggles back in my days as an adventurer. They’re a little busted, but they help you see when you’re ready.” Pops took a final seat back on the cozy hay stack he started at, before flashing Leo a knowing smile. Excitement washed over him, as Leo shot up and tackled Pops. Without a moment’s hesitation, Leo took off around the house, snatching up his personal treasures before halting at the front door. It had been what he wanted for so long: to be wanted like the other boys, to be seen like them. Leo wasn’t blind; he knew how the others looked at him. He didn’t ask to be born with ebony hair or brown eyes, in this sea of gold. He didn’t ask to be taller than the rest of the boys his age. He wanted to prove his worth, and let the skies be damned if they were stopping him today. And yet, he knew a part of his life would be lost forever once he took steps outside that handcrafted door: he’d lose Pops. Sure, Pops had given his approval, but… Feeling Pops’ longing gaze upon him, he turned around for the last time and returned a wistful smile. Tears threatening to fall once more, Leo uttered, “Thanks for everything, old man. You were the best Pops a screw-up like me could ever have.” With a final click, the once upbeat laughter of the house had vanished. “And you were the best son an old coot like me could ever have.”

#fi #leo #pt. 1 #thisothergirl

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